


In the Land of Judgement and Repentance

by LoondeLune



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crimes & Criminals, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Superpowers, War, end game will be victuuri trust me, like theres gonna be a lot of angst guys, yuuri is a tired boy™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoondeLune/pseuds/LoondeLune
Summary: He is a weapon, able to wreak havoc upon those who wrong him, and those who do not.Years ago, long before Yuuri had even been a thought, there was an outbreak. A man-made virus that spread chaos everywhere it went. It infected and killed. And those it didn't kill, it changed, mutated. An anti-virus was created and the children of those who received the medicine, those who were born of the one percent population naturally immune, were born different. Scientists all around the globe said it was an altered genome in our very DNA, a mutation. Politicians and religious zealots said it was a defect, an abomination.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> um. yeah. please enjoy :)))))  
> im a huge comics fan, and the superpower idea spawned from YA dystopia and the x-men (if that ain't a wild combination idk what is hahaha)  
> the last bit came from [do not go gentle into that good night](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night) as I absolutely love that poem.  
> find me on tumblr [here](http://www.thearseinarsenol.tumblr.com)
> 
> **edit: sorry this fic is meant to be multi-chaptered (not sure how many just yet) so i've made changes based upon that

The trigger felt smooth under his skin, cool and sure. His breath was stilled, hands steady, heartbeat pounding inside his chest. This wasn't new. It was just a job. With every shot fired, every life taken, he felt a piece of his very being chipped away. He was an artist chiseling away at a marble slab and accidents happen, he was bound to get hurt in the process. Breathe in. Breathe out.

In.

Out.

Pull the trigger, a reverberating bang, the target is dead. He dismantled his gun, stowed it carefully into his duffel bag, walked in clipped steps off the roof and down the stairwell of the construction site. Thirteen floors. He had thirteen floors to descend of this unfinished complex. An unlucky number. He wasn't unlucky though. Never was, doubted he ever would be. He had confidence in his abilities that lasted as long as the job required. He didn't have time to let his anxiety and inner demons corrupt his work. He had a life to live after all and this was the life he had chosen. 

He reached the bottom of the stairwell, counted the beats of his heart. One. Two. Three. 

In. 

Out.

Sunlight peeked out through darkened clouds damp with unshed tears. He pulled his glasses from out of his pocket and slipped them on, assimilated into the flow of the crowd, head down unassuming. It was a twenty minute walk to the train station, then another thirty minute ride to the airport. He was eager to get back home. There were no perfect jobs. No one liked their job, not truly, not if they were being honest. Yuuri was no exception to the rule. But it was the path he had chosen for himself. 

He was a weapon of mass destruction. He didn't need the gun. He chose to use it. Because wasn't life full of choices? And they were all his for the taking. There wasn't much Yuuri felt capable in save for his deadly accuracy. He was a weapon. 

Yuuri didn't need the gun.

Years ago, long before Yuuri had even been a thought, there was an outbreak. A man-made virus that spread chaos everywhere it went. It infected and killed. And those it didn't kill, it changed, mutated. An anti-virus was created and the children of those who received the medicine, those who were born of the one percent population naturally immune, were born different. Scientists all around the globe said it was an altered genome in our very DNA, a mutation. Politicians and religious zealots said it was a defect, an abomination. 

Yuuri didn't need the gun. 

He was fire and brimstone. His skin was fire, his blood lava, bones molten rock. He could descend upon the heavens in an apocalyptic storm. He was a weapon. 

Yuuri didn't want to be a weapon.  

But what did life offer a kid like him when a snap of the fingers, a flick of the wrist, a blink of the eye, could cause the annihilation of an entire planet. The world told him he was a weapon, that was the only thing he was good for. So that is what he became. He found a mentor, a family friend, someone who could teach him control, someone who could teach him  _power._ It wasn't her fault she was an assassin for hire. Minako was family, the only one who offered Yuuri a future where he only saw darkness and despair. She taught him and he learned from her, soaking up everything like she was his messiah. 

So he used the gun. Let the cold, hard metal take responsibility.

_"Follow the flow. Move with the current, don't fight it, don't struggle. Look like everyone else and you won't be noticed."_

Her words echoed in his mind, ever present, as if they were his own thoughts. In times like these he wasn't his own person, no, he felt like someone else. It was his minds way of dissociating his actions from his person, but they were all the same, they were all the same. He did this. It didn't get easier, he just became more numb. He was a weapon. 

Thirty minutes. Then a two hour flight. Then he would be home. 

_Home._

Home hasn't felt like home in a long time. Maybe this time would be different.

 

* * *

 

Nothing was different, everything was different. Yuuri came home the same as always, and altogether changed. He walked through the same threshold, into an unchanging apartment, decorated with things he should like, but felt nothing. Felt everything. Each day wore him down, endless waves ceaselessly thrashing against his shore, tearing him down, wearing him down. 

" _You should decorate. Don't make it look like you only ever sleep here, make it look like you **live**_ _here."_

He followed her instructions like he followed everything else she said. To anyone else his apartment would look homely, cozy even. To Yuuri it looked fake. The walls covered in photos from home, his parents and sister constantly smiling at him, judging him. A worn couch, fluffy pillows, a stocked kitchen never used, all meant to look like they are used often. It was all a ruse, to be used as a cover if he ever got caught. He never got caught. 

Something was buzzing inside his coat. Yuuri pulled out his cell phone, strictly for business, glanced at the caller ID. He didn't have any names in the phone, forced himself to commit every number, domestic and international, to memory. 

"It's me." Yuuri never used his name, never called anyone else by their name. 

The line crackled, a poor connection, words coming out garbled but able to understand nonetheless. 

"Good, you made it back." 

Yuuri toed off his shoes at the door, headed towards the bathroom. It was part of his routine; to bathe in an ice bath, a flash of steam instantly coating the tile walls from contact with his burning flesh, washing away the sins of the day. 

"What is it? Another job?"

He could almost hear an audible wince from the other line. "Yes. Celestino needs you to come in at your earliest convenience."

Yuuri sighed. He was tired. The kind of tired that seeped into the bones, melting away muscled and fat, imbedding itself like some kind of twisted jewel-imbued dagger. 

"Already?" 

"Well," he sounded sympathetic.

Yuuri didn't like sympathy. It made it seem like he was stuck, like he didn't _want_ another job. Of course he didn't want another job. In his line of profession though that would be seen as a weakness, something to exploit. Yuuri was tired. But this was his life. So he mustered up the remainders of his strength, pushed aside nagging regret and worry, swallowed acrid bile that tasted of anxiety. 

"You don't have to take the job. But," he hesitated, unsure.

Yuuri waited, tapped impatient fingers on the porcelain tub.

"Yeah?"

"You were personally requested," he finished. 

Yuuri paused, surprised. It wasn't unusual to receive a direct request of service. However, he hadn't received one in around two years. Not since... _him._ Yuuri was a weapon, but not one many people knew how to use. Not one  _anyone_ knew how to use. The last time he had trusted someone with his power, with his heart, he had been burned, scorched, all remnants of peace and love and hope turned to ash in the wind. People didn't trust Yuuri, so Yuuri didn't trust most people. Contractors had figured out quickly that Yuuri was not someone to try and manipulate for their own selfish desires. After all, he was fire and brimstone. Yuuri cast judgements upon his targets, pulling the trigger in a flash explosion of due diligence. Yuuri hadn't been personally requested ever since he was blacklisted by _him_. 

"By whom?" 

"Don't know." 

Cold water filled the vintage claw foot tub, a finger swirling the water distorting the face looking at his own reflection. 

"Give me twenty-four hours."

"See you then." 

 

* * *

  

A restless night and dreams filled with a home nestled into a cozy seaside town on fire, smoke billowing up, up, skywards towards that cruel night. A poem recited in a calm baritone voice, etched behind eyelids that should remain closed. Yuuri standing in heat of summer, watching as his home burned bright, illuminated the moonless dark landscape around him, stifling his lungs with the heat. Yuuri, on fire. Yuuri, raging against the burning light. 

He was not gentle. 


	2. shadows in the night, brought to life by the light of day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His life wasn't always this way. He remembered his time before...all of this, all that his life had spiraled down into.
> 
> HIs heart used to be filled with peace and hope and all the good things in the world, his home carefully sheltered away from his sordid work life, nestled between loving arms.
> 
> He used to love. 
> 
> When did he begin to hate?

He slept mostly during his time off. It was easier to escape that way. He could slip into oblivion, with the aid of a few pretty pills. He'd set up an appointment with a therapist, under a fake name, for the sole purpose of explaining how hard it was for him to sleep at night. Yuuri was weak, he knew. He wasn't above seeking help from strangers. So he met with a therapist a once a month. He left out key important details during their meetings. He had to keep his cover after all. He manipulated, said the words that were easy to heart to get what he wanted. 

"I have trouble sleeping at night."

"Why is that, do you think?"

"I don't know...the anxiety I guess. I can't stop my brain at night. It wanders and I...think. Too much." 

He walked out of the stuffy, fake-homey office with a prescription for an anxiolytic, a shadow of guilt over his face. 

There is no rest for the wicked. 

When he got home and took the medication for the first time, all guilt was washed away. It was his first restful night's sleep in eons.

Nighttime was a dark, liminal space, filled with demons and fear. He did not like the night. He wanted to live in the light. He wanted to _be_ the light. But Yuuri was darkness, and night was imbedded into his flesh, demons swam in his blood, fear lived in his heart.

His life wasn't always that way. He remembered his time before...all of this, all that his life had spiraled down into. He used to love waking up in the early hours of the morning, when the world was still sleepy, the sky a bright grey. He used to love going on runs by the seaside, salty air tickling his nostrils, filling his lungs, the sky lighting up in pink and orange and blue as the sun kissed the horizon. He used to love visiting his parents in those early hours afterwards, his dad filling him up with breakfast, his mom filling him up with love and fondness, his sister ruffling his hair as she sat down next to him, cigarette smoke lingering in the air and clinging to her skin. He used to love running all the way home, crawling into bed after a fresh shower, hair still wet and dripping onto his pillow. He used to love as the man next to him would slowly wake up, eyes blinking trying to focus, warm smile on his lips as he registered Yuuri's presence, hands slipping easily into their place on his waist. 

He used to love. 

* * *

 

The office was non-descript, resting on the outskirts of the warehouse district in Detroit, near the docks. Any passerby's would think it to be a worn down private security firm on the brink of bankruptcy from the outside, paint peeling, carpet ripped up in places. The inside was sleek and clean. Yuuri stood in the minimalist reception area; a desk sat off to the right under a small window that let in minimal light, two plush chairs stationed in front of it. He walked over to the table that held an automatic coffee pot. The smell of fresh coffee helped to wake him up a bit more. He'd slept for nearly 18 hours, giving him just barely enough time to get ready and arrive on time for the day's meeting. 

The door across the room opened suddenly. Yuuri looked up, coffee cup cradled just under his nose, to see Celestino standing with Phichit. They were talking in hurried hushed tones, a tense conversation. Their faces began to blur, expressions unrecognizable as the steam from his cup laid thick fog over his glasses. Yuuri reached up a finger to swipe at the lens, a human windshield wiper, Celestino's face coming into view much closer than it had been just moments ago. 

"Yuuri."

He reached out a hand grabbing his shoulder, began to quietly yet firmly guide him across the room and through the threshold. They walked down a long darkened corridor, several doors scattered on each side, fluorescent lighting buzzing down at them from lamps up above. Yuuri took a step ahead, out of Celestino's grasp, fell in beside Phichit. 

"What's up?" He asked quietly, hoping Celestino wouldn't hear him, knowing full well he would in the small confines of the hallway. 

Phichit looked at him sideways. His face looked grim. 

Foreboding. 

That was the feeling that etched itself into Yuuri's skin at that moment.

They reached the last door on the left, Celestino turning the knob, the door swinging open. He gestured inside, beckoning Yuuri. His feet carried him forward, slowly, leaden. 

"Yuuri."

A new voice greeted him. No, not a new voice. A familiar voice. Deep and smooth. One he'd heard many times, too many times, whispered in his ear, caressed across his abdomen, shivered down his spine. 

_Him._

Cold. 

Cold seeped over him, drenched his clothes, stole the heat from his breath. 

Dread. 

Dread shook out the foreboding and stitched itself in its place. 

Jewel like eyes looked at him, a smirk on pouty lips, a hand outstretched. 

His body moved automatically, his hand reaching out robotically, connecting, flesh on flesh, searing, burning. 

Victor Nikiforov. 

The hushed tones, a conversation not meant for Yuuri's ears. A conversation meant for Yuuri's ears. Phichit had known after all. He knew everything, all about their relationship, Yuuri freely offering the information to his confidant. Yuuri, his best friend, his boss, and his ex all in one room. It sounded like the set-up for some sick, cruel joke. It kind of was. 

"I don't believe we've ever met," Yuuri said. His voice came out steely, steady. "My name is Katsuki Yuuri." 

"Ouch." Victor Nikiforov feigned a wince, bared his teeth in what Yuuri supposed to be some kind of a smile. "Come now Yuuri, what's past is passed." 

"You two familiar with each other?"

Celestino sounded wary, his words coming out carefully. Right. This was his business after all. Can't be fucking things up with his sordid past. Right. 

Yuuri looked at Victor now, as if for the first time. "No...no, I don't know this man." He dropped the weight in his hand intending for it fall at his side; Victor squeezed tighter, nails digging into his wrist for the briefest of moments before releasing him. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've ever met." 

Victor's jaw twitched. A smile formed, forced, fake. To anyone else looking, genuine.

"My apologies." Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Victor Nikiforov, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Yuuri suppressed a shudder at the blatant lie. He knew this man well, too well, intimately-

The door opened again behind him, then clicked shut.

"Have the introductions been made then?"

Yuuri turned to see his mentor standing next to Celestino, all beauty and grace, several files held close to her chest protected. 

"Uh, yeah," Phichit said with nervous laughter. 

Minako scrutinized Yuuri. He made his mind drift back to its previously sleepy state from just moments ago, before he walked into this cursed room. It was easier to dissociate that way, if he was less present, less awake. If he seemed relaxed, nonchalant, ready to start the day like any other day, then she wouldn't say anything. She wouldn't pepper him with questions, too many questions, ones he didn't have answers to. So he walked casually to an empty chair, forced himself to sit across from Victor, masked his face into nothingness. 

"Hm."

She knew him too well. She knew him best. At least...she used to.

Yuuri doubted he knew himself anymore. 

"Let's get started then."

Phichit sat next to Yuuri, squeezed his knee under the table. Stomach acid rolled in his stomach and crawled up his throat. He swallowed it down. Minako had a keen eye. She always saw everything, eyes like a hawk. A file was smacked down in front of him, weathered eyes catching his, a silent conversation taking place. 

 _Can you do this?_ they said. 

Can he? 

Minako sat at the head of the table, Celestino to her right. A projector whirred to life, an older man's face displayed against the far wall. 

"This man goes by the name of Peter Slanovic. He's known for the killing of Special Class Citizens. We've been hired by a private contractor to eliminate him." 

Yuuri flipped through the file as Minako spoke. Not much was known about their target. Age: Unknown. Current Location: Unknown. Last seen in Venice three weeks ago. Wanted for the mass killing of S-Class peoples. His agenda: to purify the human race. 

"Who's the contractor?" 

Yuuri glanced up at the sound of Victor's voice, an old habit, an automatic response. He was casually flipping through the folder, head propped in his hand looking bored. To anyone else it would seem like they were in a regular office meeting, going over finances and the future of some supposed company. It would not look like what it was; a group of highly skilled assassins plotting the murder of a genocidal war monger. 

Minako sighed. "You don't listen Nikiforov? Well, you are new to us so I'll repeat myself only this once. We were hired by a private contractor. Anonymous." 

Victor looked up then, eyes narrowed. "Private contractor doesn't equate anonymous, you and I both know that." 

Celestino pinched the bridge of his nose. "Victor-"

"Enough. You're not here to ask questions. You are here to listen. Everything you need to know pertinent to the mission is at your disposal in that folder." 

A muscle twitched in Victor's jaw, clenched tight. 

"Do not forget you are on loan here, Victor," Celestino said quietly. Victor looked at Celestino, fire in his eyes, a fight ready on his tongue. Celestino countered with a firm look, a deep set to his thick brow line. 

"Moving on."

Minako clicked on the remote in her hand, propelling the projector forward in its presentation, landing on a grim scene. Several pictures of dead S-Class, brutally murdered, young and old, male and female. The photos kept piling on one another, one after the other after the other after the other. Yuuri lost count. 

Yuuri felt sick. 

"These are known victims. Profiles for each can be found in each file."

Yuuri flipped to the first one, read its contents, a tension headache forming at the base of his neck, acid stinging his throat. 

"They're not all S-Class. Some of these are human." 

" _We're_  human," Victor said to him, contempt in his voice, defiant opposition. His gaze directed at Yuuri, he looked unsure of his own words. _Well, m_ _aybe only one of us here is human,_ it said. 

Maybe so. 

Yuuri ignored him, directed his attention towards Minako's rapt eyes. "Why is that?"

"Good attention to detail, Yuuri." She clicked the remote again, several Polaroid style pictures filling up the wall, fifty or so faces staring back at his bleak one. "Slanovic doesn't just target S-Class, he punishes those that associate and aid them as well. As far as we know, he isn't some religious fanatic, no known leader of any cult. What he does believe in, he describes as "purity". Says that S-Class were created through the folly of man, a danger to society due their wide range in abilities." 

Minako gestures between Yuuri and Victor, the two unregistered S-Class in the small enclosed space. 

"The International Peace Organization authorized the rights of S-Class citizens twenty-years ago, but of course with all things pertaining to civil rights, not everyone agreed with them. Those that align with Slanovic and his views are just as dangerous as the man himself. Not all of them are brainwashed into thinking like him. But, according to our contractors, he is currently the biggest threat."

"Ah. So we're under government control then." Victor closed his file, a definitive tap echoing around the room. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a privately run militant organization?" He smirked at Minako. 

"This man's reach is far and wide. It is not limited to one country. He has confirmed followers in branch organizations in 32 countries around the world. He is an epidemic." 

"So the IPO agrees then? That we're worthy of being saved?" Yuuri doesn't ask the other question burning his mouth. 

_Even though we aren't human?_

Something flashes in Minako's eyes, something akin to sympathy mixed with anger, at Yuuri's spoken and unspoken words. She was a keen woman. After all, she was the best in the business. 

"Well. Hopefully this won't bite us in the ass." Victor looks straight at Yuuri as he speaks, holes boring in his skull. Yuuri forces himself to look back at him, iron in his eyes, shoulders squared firmly, opposition in his posture.

Yuuri was a monster.

Yuuri was a weapon.

And Victor knew it all firsthand.

Their time spent together flashes before his eyes. 

A warm hand held securely in his, tender lips pressed together in passion drenched in summer thunderstorms, sweet-nothings whispered across wrinkled pillowcases, meals shared between lovers. But that was all a lie right? Those images weren't real, anymore real than the nightmares they caused that kept Yuuri awake at night, filling the need for medication. 

He was just a weapon, a monster, a kill.

Victor was just like him. Professional-grade assassin for hire. Yuuri was a job. Victor had failed, Yuuri had lived.

Yuuri's body had survived anyway. 

"So what's the game plan? How are we going about this if we don't know Slanovic's current whereabouts?"

Phichit's voice rang out steady in Yuuri's storm. He was glad that Phichit was more than a colleague at that moment. Yuuri couldn't fuck up this mission. The stakes were too high. 

"Ah, that's where you come in," Celestino said. "You're the best tracker in the business. You three will be heading to Geneva where an IPO conference is to be held in two weeks time. It is suspected that Slanovic will make an appearance there, given his previous pattern of attack. There you will be meeting up with three other operatives. You have free range to formulate your own plan of execution, however, the same rules still apply."

"For our newbie here," Phichit said coyly, turning his attention towards Victor, "the rules are to be discreet, hit the target quick and efficiently, and get out without a trace. I'll be handling that last part, whereas the rest of you are responsible for the dirty work." He sent a wink Yuuri's way. 

God bless Phichit Chulanont. Yuuri's heart swelled briefly for his friend. He knew with certainty in that moment that he would be able to get through this mission with Phichit by his side, Victor's presence be damned.

"Who are the other members?" Victor looked between Yuuri and Phichit, an unreadable expression flashing across his face quickly, there and gone in a second. 

Minako opened her own folder for the first time. "Christophe Giacometti...I believe you're both familiar with him and his abilities. One Otabek Altin, powers currently unknown, described as a dark horse in the field." Minako looked up at Yuuri. "Be careful with that one," she said only to him. "And, Emil Nekola. His abilities include psychometry." 

Anxiety bubbled in Yuuri's chest. He pushed it down, forcefully, pain swelling in his chest with its presence.

He worked better alone.

When he was alone he could hide. His capabilities were better hidden, although they were already well-known within their hitman community. But hearing something is one thing, seeing it was completely different. Hearing someone had enough innate firepower to create an explosion the size of a supernova was like hearing a legend, folklore, a myth. Something easily dismissible, to be brushed off. Because something like that couldn't be true, couldn't exist in this world.

Except people like him did exist in this world. He existed. He breathed, he lived. 

He could no longer hide. 

* * *

 

"Can you do this?"

The words were spoken aloud, quiet, hushed between the narrow space of two bodies. 

Yuuri looked into bright eyes, crows feet crinkling the skin around them. She knew him well. 

"I don't know," he said truthfully. 

He used to know, he used to have confidence in his ability to effectively carry out an assignment. 

He used to love.

He used to live. 

Now...now. 

Now he worked, ceaselessly, endlessly. He killed people. He stole life and love from others. It ran out of holes in their dead bodies the color of blood. 

"I will," he said, voice quiet yet steady. "I will." Voice just that much firmer, confidence faked. 

He used to love. 

When did he start to hate? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this chapter was uh. something. this story is coming along nicely though, and hopefully inspiration will keep striking me. I have a general concept of where I want the story to go, but the idea for this chapter kinda hit me like a ton of bricks and I had to write it immediately. so I hope it is enjoyable :)   
> kinda hoping to update this on a regular schedule, like maybe weekly or bi-weekly.   
> smash that mf kudos button if you like!


	3. sweet dreams are made of these

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Yuuri and Victor's past. 
> 
> It had taken one year for Yuuri to get over Victor.
> 
> Only he hadn't.
> 
> Victor still haunted his dreams.
> 
> Yuuri was still numb.

The safe house was large. More like a mansion than a house really, with five bedrooms and four complete bathrooms, three stories high. The interior was entirely furnished in lush designs.The three of them had arrived earlier than scheduled, Phichit wanting to get a head start on tracking. Their target was going to be difficult to find and he needed all the time he could get.

Yuuri claimed a room on the bottom floor, closest to the door. Like an animal, he needed a fast escape route. He slid his suitcase under the bed out of site. He wouldn't bother unpacking; they were there for a short time, and unpacking meant Yuuri could grab his things quickly and run if the occasion called for it. Yuuri hefted his duffel bag that carried his assortment of guns onto the bed. Being one of Yuuri’s least used guns, the twin Glock’s needed to be cleaned before they were used. He wasn't sure what he was walking into, none of them were, but he wanted to be prepared.

A hard knock sounded on his door quickly before it was opened. Victor leaned on the doorframe watching him attentively. Yuuri glanced up casually, willing the stiffness out of his body at the site of Victor’s presence. He fixated his attention on setting up his supplies on the desk across from the bed.

“Hey.”

Yuuri looked up again. Victor stepped in the room closing the door behind him with a click.

“Don't you think you were a little rude before?”

“What do you mean?” Yuuri’s brow furrowed.

“I mean at the meeting, pretending like we've never met. Like we don't _know_ each other.”

Yuuri looked at Victor incredulous. “ _What_? That was rude?” He scoffed. “Oh, I'm _so sorry_. But I _don't_ recognize the man standing in front of me. The Victor I knew was someone completely different, someone _fake_. Looks like I'm finally seeing the real you.”

Bitterness coated his voice, venom seeped into his words, made itself known on his face.

Victor’s expression hardened. “I was never more myself than when I was with you, Yuuri.” His voice was low but had a deadly edge to it.

Yuuri wanted to explode. Figuratively and literally. He wanted Victor to feel the pain he felt.

“You tried to kill me.”

He kept his voice low so as not to alert Phichit. The last thing he needed was his friend getting caught in the crossfire, which he surely would if he knew how upset Yuuri was at the moment. 

Victor sighed. He changed his demeanor, nonchalant, as easy as putting on a different mask. He was good at it. After all, Yuuri had learned from the best.

“That was just business,” he said with a wave of the hand.

Yuuri saw red.

He needed to calm down. He needed to get away.

He was an animal.

He looked for his escape route. Victor stood between him and the door, effectively blocking his only viable way out. He couldn't go through the window, they were in a residential area and some new guy on the block crawling out of a window in the middle of the night would arouse suspicion.

Yuuri took a deep breath. Then another. He cursed himself for tucking his suitcase away prematurely, his bottle of lorazepam buried somewhere among its contents.

“Just business.” He counted his voice coming out evenly as a small victory. Laughed humorlessly. “Right. Then so is this.”

He gestured vaguely between them. Victor seemed to stiffen at his words.

“Now get the fuck out of my room.”

He was tired. So goddamn tired. Tired from traveling all day, tired from this godforsaken mission already, tired of Victor, tired of himself.

Victor's face was stone, his eyes crystalline rock, jaw set. He turned on his heel, yanked the door open. Took one step over the frame, turned and looked back.

“Didn't it mean anything to you?”

Click.

His words stung. More than he’ll ever know.

How hypocritical.

Didn't it mean anything to him? 

* * *

 

They met in the summer.

It was unusually hot and humid that year. He arrived in a flourish, a debonaire foreigner in their little seaside town. His mother had fawned over him immediately upon his arrival. Yuuri was still living at home at that time, helping out around the onsen, only taking up contracts with Minako a few times a month.

He was happy then.

Content.

Victor quickly made himself at home, savoring dad’s delicious katsudon, moving into the conference room, making friends of all the towns people. He had asked for Yuuri to be an impromptu tour guide, Yuuri blushing and stammering throughout his reply.

A month after he moved in, Victor asked Yuuri out on their first date. He took Yuuri to the Ice Castle, a locally owned skating rink. They skated for hours, hand in hand, cheeks flushed red from cold and mutual attraction.

He kissed him on their third date.

Yuuri had taken Victor to the beach, sharing a blanket on the sand, a picnic basket filled with homemade katsudon and the onsen’s best sake between them. The clouds rolled in furious, unleashing Poseidon’s storm, rain droplets warmed from the summer heat by the time they splashed onto their bodies, soaking them to the bone. They ran home, laughing, breathless. When they neared the entrance to the onsen, Yuuri stopped short off the main path out in the rain, gazing at Victor with desire in his eyes, breath coming out rapidly, heart pounding. His body inches from Yuuri’s. Skin charged with electricity.

They collided like stars.

Their bodies moved as one, crashing together with passion and force. Victor reached for Yuuri's face, cupping his cheeks, at the same time Yuuri's hands grasped at Victor’s chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt and _pulling_. Victor’s mouth landed on top of Yuuri’s in a searing kiss. He moved his lips against Victor's pliant ones, licking across his bottom lip teasing. Victor released a sound of pleasure, his mouth opening just enough. Yuuri slipped his tongue inside, licking into Victor’s mouth, eliciting a delightful moan. One of Victor’s hands slid around cup his neck, pulling him even closer, their bodies flush, mouths pressed together, the rain a continuous downpour washing over them.

After three months, Victor asked Yuuri to move in with him.

They settled into a picturesque cozy cottage by the shoreline, like they were living some kind of movie.

Looking back, Yuuri supposes they kind of were.

Victor didn't speak about his job, which was perfect for Yuuri because that meant he didn't have to talk about his. He was content letting Victor think all he did was help out at home.

It was Yuuri’s biggest regret.

After six months together, he bought the rings. Every morning, while the sky was still dark and the birds and Victor still slept, Yuuri looked at the top drawer of his dresser, never opening it. Hidden deep inside, among dozens of pairs of socks and undershirts, was a little velvet box. He’d spotted them by chance while he was away on “business” in Madrid, in a tiny jewelry deep within the shopping district of the city. They came in a pair, simple gold bands. On the inside a small snowflake was engraved between them, only complete when the two bands were pressed together. It reminded him of their first date at the Ice Castle. He'd bought them then and there.

He was undoubtedly in love.

Yuuri shied out of proposing at every opportunity. He was confident in their relationship, sure of Victor’s own feelings for him, but they had only been dating for six months. Yuuri was a fool to time. He lost his nerve every time the thought even dared enter his mind.

_Has it been long enough?_

Did it matter?

He didn't get to find out.

It was the night of their first anniversary. Yuuri had planned to propose again. Thought flew from his mind as soon as he arrived home. Victor had planned a romantic candlelit dinner, rose petals scattered throughout each room, mom’s katsudon on the table. They didn't eat it. Yuuri crossed the distance between them, swung his legs around Victor sitting down on his lap, knocking the table behind him. He kissed him senseless. Victor’s hands slid down his sides, moved downwards to his ass squeezing before traveling to his thighs. He took hold of Yuuri, lifting him up and carrying him to their bedroom.   
That was the last night Victor made love to him.

That was the last night Yuuri saw Victor.

He entered his dreams. That was his power after all. Mind control with a twist. He couldn't do it while Yuuri was awake, that was the flaw, the safety net. All of their powers came with a condition. Yuuri would never be able to fully contain the sheer force of his power, it would keep growing exponentially, forever, until it eventually consumed him. That was his clause. Victor could not manipulate a wakened mind; it must be in its nocturnal state, dormant, for his power to take root.

Yuuri walks the streets of his familiar mindscape. It was empty, void of human life. It made him feel safe. His anxiety was seeded in his powers, and when people were around, too many people, always around, too close, well that just meant more casualties.

Except Victor was there.

Yuuri watched him as he stood on the outskirts of his city, head tilted in confusion.

“Victor?”

This was a nightmare, Yuuri realized.

Oh, how right he had been.

Dark clouds billowed up from the ground beneath him creating a smoke screen. It darkened the already grey sky of Yuuri’s mind. Flames sparked to life at the base of the buildings, roaring and licking at the walls, traveling upwards, consuming. His mind was on fire.

“Victor?!”

He reach a hand out towards Yuuri, then quickly recoiled, burned by the pyre. He was saying something, but Yuuri couldn't hear him over the roaring of his burning city.

Yuuri felt tears sting his eyes, roll down his cheeks creating scorch marks in their path. His skin was burning, hotter and hotter still. The city crumbled behind him in a pile of ash and flame.

Outside of his dream in their bed Victor cursed as he tried to control Yuuri. His body spouted white hot heat, flames erupting from the flesh over his heart, his shirt burning away. Yuuri writhed in bed.

In his dream his skin was charred, scorched away revealing tender pink meat beneath, his heart carved a hole from the inside out, exposed.

Their house was on fire.

Yuuri woke with a start. He was falling, off the bed, down to the ground. Victor was gone, his spot on the bed empty.

“Victor!”

He ran out of the bedroom, smoke and soot invading his lungs. Support beams began to creak and moan, weakened. He searched frantically for Victor, only to realized he was nowhere to be found, no trace left behind.

He stood on the street outside his home, watched as it crumbled into an unrecognizable heap, his tears dried from the heat.

His parents took him in. Of course they did.

“I worried about you living alone in such an old house,” his mother had tutted.

He’d stared at her in shock. Mumbled his agreement then excused himself to his room. Called Phichit immediately. 

He was on a flight to Detroit within the next week.

“What did you find?” He’d asked upon arriving at the airport.

“Let’s go home first.” Phichit had looked at him with pity in his eye. Yuuri died a little more inside.

Phichit spoke for what seemed like hours. Told him it had taken a few days, scouring every resource he knew of but that he’d discovered Victor’s identity.

He worked for a rival organization, ties run deep with the former KGB. They’d heard of Yuuri. No one had heard of them and lived.

So why had Yuuri?

Yuuri had cried when Phichit was finished and only offered up silence. Phichit had cradled Yuuri in his arms, lent his shoulder to cry on. Yuuri cried and cried until he was dried up with nothing left to give, a dessert run dry.

Numb.

He'd told his parents he would be staying with his friend for a while, try to get his life together. The worst was yet to come.

Yuuri had been blacklisted by an anonymous source, deemed to dangerous to work with, his power uncontrollable, a human weapon. Phichit told him it was Victor’s people who sent out the information. It took every ounce of strength Yuuri had left, but he called up Minako, told her the situation. Left out the part about fraternizing with the enemy. She put feelers out, got Yuuri back on the market. It took him months to rebuild the reputation it had taken one night for Victor to destroy.

It had taken one year for Yuuri to get over Victor.

Only he hadn't.

Victor still haunted his dreams.

Yuuri was still numb.

Yuuri had begun to hate. 

* * *

 

“The others should be here soon,” Phichit announced.

The smell of pizza baking in the oven filled the kitchen.

"Can't think on an empty stomach," Phichit had said. Yuuri couldn't disagree.

He sat at the table in the room adjacent to the foyer going over the file from their debriefing, looking for a pattern, any kind, to give a clue as to who exactly Peter Slanovic was. Victor sat across from him, leisurely flipping through some inane magazine.

The sound of keys jingling, a lock clicked, the door swinging open. In walked three men, a rush of cold winter air following in their wake.

Christophe dropped his bags right inside the door, slow grin spreading wide across his face, eyes locked onto Yuuri.

“Well hello there,” he drawled. He looked past Yuuri, a knowing smirk sliding into place on his lips. “And hello there.”

“Cutting it close aren't you,” Victor intoned.

Christophe laughed, shrugging his shoulders easily and moving to join them at the table like this was some kind of friendly get together between longtime friends. Maybe it was for them. Yuuri stood to greet the two new men still standing just inside the door, bags in hand.

“Hey, I’m Yuuri.”

“I'm Phichit.” The call came from the kitchen.

“Oh, everyone knows who you are,” The taller one said, a smile locked in place as faced Yuuri. 

He looked liked the human embodiment of a puppy with his fluffy hair and beard, bright smile permanent on his dopey face. Yuuri was annoyed already, jaw twitching. Anxiety reared its head in his gut.

“I'm Emil.” The taller one stepped forward, reached out the hand not occupied by luggage. Yuuri gripped his proferred hand giving it a firm shake.

“The quiet one is Otabek.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

Otabek was shorter and unassuming, a furrow set to his brow.

“Good to be working with you.” Otabek nodded towards Yuuri. He responded in kind. Odd one. Yuuri couldn't get a read on the guy. He certainly lived up to his mantle of being a dark horse.

“You can put your bags anywhere, there’s plenty of rooms,” Yuuri said, making his way back to the table.

Emil and Otabek joined them a moment later, bags stashed away. Phichit walked in, two pizzas in hand, steam rising from the cheesy surface.

“Now that everyone’s here let's eat!” He set the pizza down between the four of them with a flourish.

“And let's get down to to business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's get down to business! to defeat...the homicidal maniac!   
> title taken from the Eurythmics song of the same name (a good bop, give it a listen while reading this chapter)  
> you can pry these italics from my cold, dead hands.   
> two updates in one day??? whaaaaat!   
> I probably should have just made one long chapter but here have another update in the same day instead.   
> Some knowlegde for this fic that hasn't been explicitly stated in detail and may be considered confusing:  
> 1\. All the powers are mind-based i.e. Yuuri's pyrokinesis.   
> 2\. Victor's power is a type of mind control. Think inception. He can manipulate people's thoughts and memories, but only in a dream (it happened once in a dream~~~)   
> 3\. Chris' power is to know things. He doesn't have to study anything to know how to do/use it i.e. being a master martial artist without any training, being fluent in multiple languages without studying. He also has low-level empathy, being able to read the mood of a situation/person quickly.   
> 4\. Emil's power is kind of like a form of ESP. He can tell what happened in the past by being in a specific room that something happened in or by touching an object that came into contact with the person in question. For example, if someone was murdered in the study with a candelabra by colonel mustard, Emil would be able to see that scene played out by standing in the study while holding the murder weapon. Or, think abe sapien from Hellboy.  
> 5\. Emil will come in handy with Phichit.   
> 6\. Otabek is a braniac. That's his superpower, he's really smart, and by some extent can manipulate objects through telekinesis.   
> 7\. As far as everyone knows, Phichit is human...
> 
> Enjoy the second update!   
> Please like and subscribe if enjoyable!   
> Find me on tumblr [here](thearseinarsenol.tumblr.com)!


	4. kissing death and losing my breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eye through a glass scope, a finger over a trigger, pulling slightly, a man with silver hair in view. A shot to be taken, a life to be stolen, a person to be killed.
> 
> Yuuri hated Victor. 
> 
> Victor lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer***  
> There are no kiddos in this fic!! No 18/19 y/o fighting and killing!!!  
> Character ages are as follows:  
> Yuuri: 32  
> Victor: 36  
> Phichit: 28  
> Chris: 33  
> Emil: 26  
> Otabek: 26

Soft sounds of violins filtered into his ears on waves of quiet static. Sharp wind bit it's cold teeth into his exposed neck, steam rising from the contact. His finger dancing over the trigger l every now and then, metal smooth yet sharpened from the frosted air.

He was high up in the mountains, camouflaged by an abundance of pine trees all around him, a waterfall roaring faintly below. Across a large lake was a resort carved into the side of the wide mountain he was on.

Through his scope he spotted hundreds of men and women, dapper, dressed to the nines, talking, whispering, flirting, laughing, scheming. A hand brush here, an exchange of notes there, a casual touch of the shoulder, a dance.

He found Chris in the crowd, mingling easy with high-ranked government officials from several different countries; Otabek off to his side, nursing a glass of champagne and surveying the scene before him, gaze sharp, calculating. Yuuri knew that Phichit and Emil would not be seen from his perch. He pushed down the uneasy bubbling in his gut, ignored the prickling at his neck, reasoned that the hairs which stood on end were due to the cold. He did not feel the cold. 

He took a deep breath, forced his body steady when he winced at the collision of razor-edge cold and heat in his lungs. Victor was on ground patrol. He would have a 360 degree view of the resort, would be able to keep tabs on everyone, where Yuuri only had a birds eye view.

Yuuri hated his position. 

He hated having to put trust and faith in Victor once again, that he would have to hope Victor would be observant enough to pick up on any danger, that he would be capable enough to get their colleagues, their _friends_ , out of there if things went south. He hated Victor’s presence.

Yuuri hated Victor.

* * *

_12 hours earlier**_

“So what's the scenario?”

They were all seated at the larger table the dining hall offered, profiles of confirmed victims covering the surface with Peter Slanovic’s profile at the center. A map had been taped to the wall, push-pins in locations where victims had been killed. There were no connections to be made, no clues to be found. There was nowhere to start.

“Otabek, I hear you're quite smart,” Chris said, coy smirk to his mouth.

After they’d finished eating shitty frozen pizza, before they moved locations to the dining hall, Phichit had grabbed Yuuri, pulled him aside. He’d leaned in close, a device held between their bodies, a small holographic image of Otabek projecting from it. Three more screens covered up Otabek’s image. A register.

“He's registered? But we don't know anything about him,” Yuuri whispered.

Phichit grinned. “Right. Kazakhstan requires registration, just like everyone else, but they're one of the only countries who is openly using S-Class in their military. Even black-ops, which is why we couldn't find anything. His secrets are _heavily_ guarded by government dogs.”

“So of course you stole them.”

"So of course I stole them.” Phichit smiled devilishly. “I'll give you the low down for now, let you read it over in detail later. He's called the Hero of Kazakhstan if that gives you any idea. Anyway, he's super smart.”

“That's it?” Yuuri’s brows knitted together, doubt on his face.

Phichit waved him off. “No, like. Super smart. His IQ doesn't even register it’s so high. His brain is on a whole other level. Some reports say his brain waves are so active he inadvertently gained telkie abilities.”

Yuuri considered this. “Hm. So he could be very useful to us.”

“He could be _very_ useful to us,” Phichit agreed.  
  
Now, Otabek faced Chris with a humorless look in his dark eyes.

“Yeah? I hear you traded your soul for a few extra dollars Chris,” Phichit said.

Chris feigned offense, placed one hand over his heart, the back of the other on his forehead, leaning back in an over dramatic swoon. 

“I never!”

“Didn't you start working with the IPO?” Phichit smirked, head cocked to the side.

“Oh, come on darling. You know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I just happen to follow that doctrine religiously,” Chris smiled.

Yuuri glanced over at Victor studying one of the victim profiles. It made sense that Chris would know about Otabek’s powers, even with his military status, given his ties to the IPO. He wondered though if Victor knew. How well informed was his organization? How well did he know Chris?

How well did Chris know Victor?

Otabek cleared his throat. “To somewhat answer your question Chris, what I know is that we don't know anything.”

“Well I could have offered that,” Chris frowned.

“What I mean is, there's an obvious lack of information. We know that Slanovic has been active for the past five years, even if the media has only covered his terrorist attacks for the past year or so. But we know next to nothing about him. No base of operations, only last known locations and we only get that information after the fact. We have a list of about 50 operatives under his command but that's obviously incomplete, there could be hundreds more given how far his reach extends. We don't know _enough_ is what I'm trying to say.”

“…you think he’s infiltrated the world government.” Yuuri spoke quietly, didn't like what Otabek was implying, didn’t like his own train of thought following it.

Otabek looked him dead in the eye, nodded once, curt.

“Yes.”

Otabek's words sank like lead. Yuuri’s stomach dropped like he was on a rollercoaster at a steep decline going down, down, down into a deep abyss, flames licking at his face. Years ago and not long ago given the span of mankind, the S-Class weren't even considered people. They were prosecuted and condemned. In his parents generation when the registry opened officially, they feared for their lives. Evil men and women used the registry to target them, maiming, killing, justifying their sick, selfish desires with excuses like “they were SC, I had to defend my powerless self!” By the time Yuuri was born the IPO had long since stepped in and we were a little less terrified, felt a little more safe.

With his words, what was left of Yuuri’s world was crumbling down.

“You're a keen one,” Chris was saying, eyeing Yuuri, an unreadable expression on his face. The hairs on his arm stood at attention, alert. 

“I was wondering why the IPO wanted to get a bunch of dogs of the underworld together and not use their own operatives,” Victor finally spoke. He looked up from the paper in his hand to Yuuri. His gaze slid over to Otabek, face blank. “So what do you suggest?”

“Re-con.”

“I can help with that,” Chris said.

“Right, you should have an invitation to that swanky dinner party coming up right?” Phichit said to Chris. He pulled out a laptop from his bag, opening it on the table and tapping away.

“Party?” Emil tilted his head to the side in confusion. He perpetuated Yuuri’s mental image of a puppy at every opportunity.

“It's a dinner for the IPO officials attending the conference next week. Like a pre-show of sorts. All the big wigs will be there.”

“So who's going in?” Victor placed his hands on the table leaning forward, eager.

“That would be me, obviously, and…,” Chris’ eyes flicked to Yuuri briefly before settling on Otabek. “You should come in handy Mr. Brainiac.” He smiled coyly.

Otabek nodded his agreement.

“And me,” Phichit said pointing to himself with one hand, the other still typing keys into his computer. “And Emil.”

Emil looked over at him surprised. “Um, okay.”

“Don't worry buddy, you're gonna help me out a lot. Trust me.” Phichit smiled up at him. Emil smiled back unsure, nodding.

“Emil,” Yuuri called. He looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “How much field experience do you have?”

Emil winced looking sheepish, scratched nervously at his beard.

“Uh, not a lot actually. I usually just point in the right direction or I come in after the damage is done to get a lead.”

“Then, while the four of you are gathering information, you'll need defensive support,” Victor said carefully. He looked at Yuuri sideways.

Yuuri hated this assignment.

Chris hummed. “Since I'm a public figure here it should be easy enough for Otabek and I to create enough of a distraction for Phichit and Emil to slip away unnoticed. Which leaves Victor and Yuuri to stand guard.”

His mouth had gone dry. He wanted to protest but there was no argument to be made, no counter to the proposed plan. It was a good plan, the best one they had at the moment, the _only_ one they had, with the little information and few resources available to them. Yuuri could protect his own life, he was best at that, hiding his heart and his life away behind a pretty gunmetal cage. Now he had other lives to protect too, one of them being his best friend. Yuuri felt as if he was personally placing Phichit’s life in Victor’s hands, giving him the power to shield or crush. He could live with his own mistakes in life, he’d been doing it for so painstakingly long now, but Phichit…Phichit was the one who picked him back up from his lowest, allowed him time and space scrape up his remaining strength all while carefully watching over him. He didn't want to share the responsibility of Phichit’s life with anyone, let alone Victor. Anger rose in his blood, simmering, boiling. Raging.

Rage.

Hate.

Ever since Victor re-entered his life, Yuuri no longer felt numb. Instead what filled the void was anger and rage and hate.

He _hated_.

“Is that good with you?”

Yuuri met Victor’s eyes, steel striking ice.

He nodded once, stiff.

“Now that our positions are settled, where will you two be setting up?”

Next to the map on the wall were blueprints for the resort where the conference would be held. Yuuri walked over to it, studying, gaze keen.

“The party is at the same location?” He glanced over his shoulder at Chris who nodded. “Where exactly will you be?” He faced Phichit, addressing only him.

“We’ll need to move around, but we’ll stick mainly to the offices and studies immediately surrounding the ballroom where Chris and Otabek will be.”

Yuuri rubbed his temples, a headache sprouting beneath his fingers. He had a terrible idea that wrought anxiety laced with fear.

“Victor.” He turned to face the man, arms dropping limply to his sides. “What are your weapons of expertise?”

Victor raised a brow. “I use a Horhe for long-range, sai blades for close-range. Although I'm sure my long range doesn't compare to yours.” His mouth twitched up into a cruel smirk at his last words.

Yuuri turns to regard the blueprints again, then walks over to Phichit. “Can you pull up a map of the landscape?”

A few clicks later and Phichit has several photos pulled up giving Yuuri a clear picture of approximately 100 meters surrounding the area. He leans over Phichit, arms circling him as he clicks through each image, finds one he settles on, reaches a finger up to tap the screen.

“Here.”  
  
He leans up, finds Victor watching him, arms crossed, jaw tight, a shadow over his face. Yuuri beckons him over. Victor doesn't move for a moment, then slowly walks forward, eyes never leaving his own until he finally reaches Yuuri's side. He breaks contact to look at the picture still open on the screen.

Yuuri points at his desired location. “I will be here. This will give me a vantage point of the entire ballroom and the balcony. And you…,” Yuuri pulls up a series of photos that give a wide range of vantage points from the ground. “You will be here. You'll be able to move freely but still have cover.”

He looked up to Victor considering, hand in his elbow and finger to his lips, humming. He tilts his head, slides hardened eyes over to Yuuri, his expression closed off. Yuuri cannot begin to fathom what is going through his mind right now. It's a solid plan, one that will provide complete coverage of their teammates. It's a terrible idea, one that rips Phichit from him and into Victor’s arms. He steps closer to Phichit. Victor's eyes narrow. 

“Alright,” Victor says finally.

Chris joins him then, draping an arm around his shoulder and leaning forward to get a better view.

“It's pretty cold up on the mountain. Will you be okay?”

“I'll be fine,” Yuuri said quietly.

Chris looked at him then, gaze heavy and accusing. “Right. I forgot about your...situation. I'm more concerned about Vicky.”

Victor shrugged off Chris, lips curling into a smirk. A secret shared between the two. Between friends. 

Yuuri’s skin felt hot. His mind roared, whispers in the back of his head grew louder and louder. _How much does he know? Look they seem close, they're friends right? Chris and Victor are friends, right? How much does he know? He must know everything! He must! He knows everything! HE KNOWS EVERYTHING-!_

A hand slid into his, held tight, squeezed. Yuuri squeezed back. Looked down into soft, knowing eyes.

“I'll be fine,” he said firmly, Chris and Victor watching him, gaze intent. Two walls facing each other, one made of fire and the other ice.

A meteor crashing into a comet.

* * *

_1 hour before the party**_

“Hey, Phichit, got a sec?”

He popped his head in the bedroom halfway, hesitant. He knew Phichit would listen to him, he always did. Yuuri was unsure he wanted to know the answers to his questions though, his mind warring with ignorance is bliss and knowledge is power.

“Sure. What's up?”

He looked up from his spot at the desk, two laptops open and papers strewn everywhere, Phichit in charge of forging official invitations and documentation for the mission later that night. 

“Something has been bothering me since this whole assignment started…”

Phichit looked at him, expectant, face open, ready to listen to his concerns. Yuuri took a deep breath, stepped fully inside closing the door behind him for privacy, walked over to the bed to sit. Movements mechanical. His hands were shaking so he squeezed them together, hoping it was unnoticeable, ignoring the way Phichit’s eyes tracked the movement.

“You know who asked for me directly don't you? And something seemed off at the meeting. Minako was…hostile and Celestino looked like he was barely holding it together, which isn't like him.”

Despite being in the business of killing people for a living, Celestino was a kind and patient man. He was stern, tough, able to get the job done, scolding whenever there was a goof up.

“And…Victor. Celestino said he was on loan.”

The corner of Phichits mouth turned up in a small smile. He was looking at Yuuri carefully, taking in how his shoulders were drawn in, a fruitless barrier against knowing eyes. 

“You're as observant as ever, Yuuri,” he said softly.

Phichit stood up from his spot at the desk, crossed the room and sat next to Yuuri on the bed. Patted Yuuri’s knee that was bouncing up and down.

“Yakov Feltsman. Looks like he's still got his eye on you. He's got strong connections with the Russian branch of the IPO on top of his ties with the former KGB. Our team was at the top of the list for who should take on this job, so Feltsman asked for you personally to be a part of it. Along with Victor of course, presumably to keep tabs on you.”

A shadow fell over Yuuri, covered his heart in black ink. He looked over at Phichit's warm, sympathetic face. An image flashed before his eyes. Red staining brown skin, gushing out from gaping holes, lifeless eyes staring back at him. Darkness creeped inside him, wrapping tendrils around his lungs, suffocating. 

Victor had told him it was all business in the past, a job, a contract, a _kill_.

So what was different from what they were doing now?

* * *

An eye through a glass scope, a finger over a trigger, pulling slightly, a man with silver hair in view. A shot to be taken, a life to be stolen, a person to be killed.

Yuuri took a breath, pulled tighter, saw the image of the firing pin in his head, miniature explosion boosted by Yuuri’s own firepower, enough to carry a bullet over the lake, through the wind, into a skull, brass on bone. Red.

Yuuri took a breath. Lowered the rifle, finger below the trigger.

Yuuri hated.

Victor lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Posting 3 updates within 2 days? It's more likely than you think! (jk I will literally never do this again)  
> Yay we're getting into plot points now!! And more character study!!!  
> VICTOR IM SO SORRY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH IM SO SORRY  
> Chapter title from the song Bones by MS MR (give it a listen ;) )  
> More facts and tidbits not explicit but good to know for future and past reference:  
> 1\. Yuuri's anxiety stems from his fire-based abilities which will be covered in greater detail later  
> 2\. Victor not only betrayed Yuuri's trust when he tried to kill him, but also confirmed one Yuuri's deepest fears: that he is not worthy to be alive  
> 3\. Phichit and Yuuri have been friends for about 7 years now  
> 4\. Chris and Victor have been friends for a long time, although when or where their friendship began is not known...
> 
> Enjoy the update! Please don't expect another update this week though guys, seriously. Look out for next week though!  
> Smash that kudos to spread the love! 
> 
> Got questions about the fic?  
> Ask me on tumblr [here](http://thearseinarsenol.tumblr.com)!


	5. lose your soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the land of judgement, who were the sinners and who were the repenters? Who was David and who was Goliath? Who was the man who stood with God at his back and a meager pebble in his hand facing the giant who defied divine grace and reason?
> 
> He was no righteous man seeking redemption.
> 
> He was Goliath seeking war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: things get spicy but not explicit, however if you'd still like to skip stop reading at "They moved like waves..." and pick up again after the break.

He grew up the only one of his kind. His parents loved him unconditionally all the same, neighbors protected him in their tiny town by the sea, their god of the sun.

He felt alienated.

Before anyone knew what he was, what he could do, everyone just thought he was a sickly boy.

“Oh, the young boy has a fever again? Pity.”

Tears would well in his eyes, singeing, threatening to spill over in shame at every look of fear and worry in his mothers eyes, every time his father turned away, lump in his throat, every fist balled tight of his sister’s hands.

“The boy? He isn't sick. He's got power…a lot of it.”

Minako had been his savior. She happened upon him by pure chance; she hadn't seen his mother, her high school friend, in years, decided to drop by unannounced. And then she saw.

She saw the strain in the way his mother carried her shoulders, tension in the air so thick, prickling like mosaic glass.

She saw him for what he was.

He saw the relief flood his mother, Minako her safe haven, her ark. She stepped out anew, wonderstruck awe covering her face at the realization her son was something special. People like him were revered in his home country.

He was alone.

Yuuri could categorize his life into two distinct parts; the one before Minako’s appearance, and the one after. She kept vital information from his mother, secrets hidden away like treasure, to placate her, to assure her that her son would be safe, that he could still grow up to be loved and successful and live a happy life, despite what the rest of the world preached outside of their tiny home.

He didn’t hate her for the lies.

He never hated her.

She taught him everything, never hiding who she truly was. He knew she was a killer, stone-cold.

“You have to take what's yours in the world Yuuri. People may worship you here but that isn't the case everywhere. There's a never ending supply of hatred that runs deep. Others will find a way to hurt just because you are different. Do not let them.”

She taught him how to internalize the heat, to ignite it inwards not outwards, never outwards. Not until he was ready.

“If you aren't prepared to use it as a weapon and the consequences that follow, then you shouldn't use it at all. Keep it to yourself. Like a secret, Yuuri. Your power is meant to be shared.”

He took his first job at the young age of sixteen.

Yuko had been his best friend. She was the only one who deigned to treat Yuuri like he was just a normal boy, not some myth to be whispered about, a legend to be shared over campfires, placed high upon the pedestal, high, too high, always too high.

Her family owned the Ice Castle and they spent their childhood days in the frosted palace, Yuko skating ever too close to the living furnace Yuuri. Her gravitation pulled him, spinning around her orbit of kindness, of togetherness. She made him feel like he belonged. She was the first person who made him feel like he might be human.

But nothing is ever as it seems.

He remembered the night he was fourteen and just started puberty, Yuko confessing in hushed tones how she worked with Minako. She told him why she lived with her aunt instead of her parents, how they were brutally murdered in their own home, Yuko cowering, hidden away in a closet behind a flurry of coats and floral dresses as her mother choked on her own blood and her father bled out of his gut writhing on the floor.

It was the first time he’d seen her angry. It was the first time he’d seen her devoid of all other human emotion than pure hatred that consumed her. He remembered wondering what that felt like, how painful it must be.

Minako said she died peacefully with a smile on her face, knowing that her parents killer was brought to some kind of justice. Even though they were only one pawn part of a larger collective. But what truth is told to a young woman who has spent over half of their life chasing down a belligerent path to self-righteousness? Minako was a damn good liar.

She recruited Yuuri. He knew how to wield his power, could feel the heat pool in his hands, flames licking at his palms, snaking up his fingers, consuming oxygen, growing bigger, bigger, bigger.

“Your power is meant to be shared.”  
  
So he shared it everywhere, with the scum of the world, all for profit.

Yuuri could not hate Minako.

He took his first life at the young age of sixteen.

If time travel were real, if God really did grant do-over’s and second chances, if Yuuri didn't have to experience first hand the hatred Yuko felt.

If was a powerful word.

If Yuko didn't die.

If Victor hadn't tried to kill him.

If Yuuri hadn't been born with the power of a sun.

If.

* * *

The music shifted, static crackling louder in his ear drowning out all other noise. Yuuri law low in the snow, adjusted the receiver at his elbow. He’d insisted on Phichit taking in an untraceable bug.

“You can plant it anywhere in the main ballroom once you get in. It's got a wide range so I'll be able to keep tabs on anyone, hear if anyone gets the drop on you.”

Phichit had complied, with a roll of his eyes, if only add tranquility to Yuuri’s anxiety. He was grateful. He did not trust Victor. He would not trust anyone but himself with his friend’s life and he did not trust Victor.

He lowered his head, squinting through the scope, swept the balcony then beyond to the ballroom. Phichit and Emil were still out of sight. He'd last seen Victor somewhere on the ground over twenty minutes ago; hopefully now on the other side of the resort, checking in on their teammates. They were in the dark. No comm links, no telepathic links either being no ones particular specialty. Radio and head silence. Just silence. They were dependent upon their own capabilities and each other for support.

Frayed nerves buzzed and sparked underneath his skin. A fine tremor settled into his hands. Sweat pooled underneath his cap, soaking the wooly fabric, trickling down his spine.

Movement at the entrance to the ballroom caught Yuuri’s attention. He aimed the scope, saw Phichit and Emil emerge, unharmed and alone save each other. He released the air trapped in his lungs. Sucked in a piercing breath at the sight of an unknown approaching them. A shadow passed over Phichit’s face, Emil’s posture stiffening, obviously uncomfortable.

He did want to take his eyes off them but forced himself to look for Chris and Otabek. They were too far away, at the polar opposite of the room surrounded by officials on all sides, cornered into conversation. They hadn't noticed Phichit and Emil, or the suspicious newcomer. Yuuri swiveled his gun back to his friend and-

His finger was on the trigger lighting fast already halfway between pulling and spearheading a bullet.

The man put his hand on Phichit’s shoulder and Yuuri could see through his scope that he applied pressure, commanding a domineering presence. He stood tall and firm, a playful smirk on his lips as he watched the two men squirm. Emil was petrified, turned to stone by yellow eyes.

Yuuri swallowed, willed his hands steady, took a breath-

Phichit turned, grabbed Emil by the hand, walked away towards the exit at a clipped pace, the stranger looking after them. Yuuri scoped the grounds for Victor.

Gone.

He was gone. Or missing. Or dead.

Or dead.

Yuuri shoved the thought away, back to the recess of his mind. More movement. Chris and Otabek leaving, an exchange of glances, a knowing look, a furrowed brow. Phichit emerged into the valet roundabout first, Emil hot on his heels, but no sign of the other man. Yuuri stayed in his perch for one heartbeat, two, three.  
Fuck it.

He tucked the sniper rifle beneath his arm in one motion and slung his duffel over a shoulder in the next. He was descending at a rapid rate, faster and faster, one goal in mind. Get to Phichit. Get to the base of the mountain, there's a shortcut through the woods, over a row of bushes, to where Phichit stood, afraid. Get to Phichit.

Two more steps and he would breach the unnaturally green shrubbery leading to pavement. Two more steps. Two more pounding, life-threatening heartbeats.

A hand stretched out, grabbing, pulling, tumbling backwards. Eyes wide, breath held, hand reaching for the hunting knife concealed at his ankle as he crouched low and spun, feral.

“Don't go any closer.”

A quiet voice, an urgent whisper.

Deep.

Familiar.

Yuuri’s eyes focused on a pale face, glacial eyes boring into him, accusing. Don't fuck this up, they said. He felt his face flush hot, blood vessels churning acrid, a monster waiting to eat its prey.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“What do you mean? I've been on patrol.”

He collided with steel frozen over with ice.

Victor sighed, frustrated, moved forward quickly. Yuuri fell backwards, recoiling, creating as much distance between Victor as he could in the cramped space behind the bushes. Emotion flashed in Victor’s eyes, gone like quicksilver, and Yuuri questioned whether he had even seen it in the first place or fabricated it to his liking.

“Let's go,” he snapped through razor blades.

Victor moved around Yuuri in a wide berth, heading towards their rendezvous point.

Yuuri followed, wary, seething.

Angry.

* * *

Red.

Yuuri heard and saw and tasted and spoke in red.

He’s held it all in for too long really. He was bound to erupt.

They’d all arrived in the dingy bar down the valley at the mountain’s base, the resort a slash of gold against the midnight sky. Everyone was safe, no worse for the wear. Emil was still obviously shaken by whatever had happened to them.

Yuuri pounced as soon as the door to the safe house clicked shut, locks in place.

“What the hell was that?”

He faced Phichit, raked his eyes over his body assessing for any obvious injuries. Phichit only looked tired and wired, with the taste of lingering adrenaline on his tongue.

“They have someone who can't be tracked…”

“Excuse me?”

Phichit glanced at Chris briefly before moving in a daze to the sofa. Emil stayed planted at the entranceway, eyes unseeing, face blank. Otabek placed a hand on his shoulder causing him to jump slightly before Otabek guided his body next to Phichit's.

“Tell us what happened,” Otabek said calmly.

“We were checking out the neighboring rooms. They were mostly empty, no leads. But then we found a library or office…,” Phichit waved his hands vaguely, trying to find the right word. “A study. As soon as we entered Emil could feel…something.”

“You felt something?” Chris asked raising a brow.

Emil swallowed hard, looked at Chris, unfocused. “There was this…ominous presence. Like something, I don't know, evil happened there. Something sinister? The air felt oppressive, and I tried to get a better read, I tried to-“ his voice broke off and he swallowed again. “I couldn't find anything specific.”

Phichit was nodding. “We found a back room hidden behind one of the bookcases. Real old school, pull a lever type and the thing swings open like in some cheesy murder mystery show.”

He looked at Yuuri now, words picking up speed, urgency in his voice and on his face.

“The place looked like it had been wiped clean and recently too. There were stains on the floors and walls. It looked like there had been some kind of equipment there, lots of it. Emil got more spooked the closer we went in.”

Emil hung in head in his hands, grabbing fistfuls of hair. Otabek crouched low, the hero of Kazakhstan, whispering words low and soothing.

“Something terrible happened there,” Emil whispered. “People died. I know it, people died there.”

Phichit placed a hand on his shoulder. “It will be okay.”

They were liars. They learned from the best. It was never okay.

“Who was that man?” Yuuri's voice came out hardened, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. He glanced up at Victor, caught him watching, felt fresh rage wash over him.

“He…slipped past me somehow.” Phichit knitted his eyebrows together, head tilting in confusion. “He just snuck past us, both of us, like he had no presence. I don't think he caught wind of who we were. I was able to play the bumbling foreigner card.” Phichit smirked, winking at Yuuri.

“I think we’re still safe. There's still another week before the official meeting. If we keep our heads low to the ground and continue to quietly gather intel, we should be able to pull this off,” Chris said.

He was all of a sudden too serious, a loud juxtaposition to his carefree attitude thus far. Trepidation crawled up Yuuri’s throat and burrowed into his mind, whispering. Victor shifted, nodding his head in agreement.

“Right. Then we move forward as planned.”

The team murmured various forms of approval. Yuuri stood erect, a pillar weathered away against a wrath of arctic waters. Victor looked on.

“Okay…why don’t we all cool off,” Chris said pointedly. He looked over to Victor, an eyebrow raised. “We should get some rest then regroup in the morning. Come up with a plan then.”

Victor looked to his friend carefully, then silently moved past him, vanishing up the stairs into the darkness beyond.

Red

* * *

 

His feet carried him to the bedroom, crimson colored words at the tip of his tongue, knocked once.

Victor stood at the door, barefoot with sweatpants low on his waist, shirt tossed behind him on the floor. He grazed over Yuuri seemingly bored, stepped back inside the room, quietly beckoning. Yuuri followed him, closing and locking the door behind him. Victor was leaning against a chair, waiting.

“What the fuck was that back there?”

“What was what?”

“You know what,” Yuuri seethed.

“I don't know-“

“Where were you?! When Phichit was in danger where were you?! I checked your area and you were gone, I had to cover all four of them by myself!”

“Only worried about Phichit huh?” A cruel smile slashed his features.

Yuuri raised his chin looking down upon Victor. “And if I am?”

His eyes narrowed to slits, pale blue disappearing behind a sheen of silver, a muscle jumping and twitching at his jaw, fists clenched where his arms were crossed against a broad chest. He sprang forward suddenly moving in quick strides, grabbed fistfuls of fabric and yanked Yuuri towards him, mouths clashing, two titans, blistering torched tongues, teeth on teeth.

They moved like waves in a clashing sea trying to conquer one another, hands exploring once claimed territories, now abandoned. A whirlpool of flesh and bone, skin colliding and bodies never near enough.

He pushed Yuuri down on the bed. Yuuri gave in freely, now realizing how much he truly craved touch, how long he'd been starved. Victor's hands roamed over his chest, teeth scraping his abdomen moving dangerously low. Yuuri’s hands tangled into silk tresses, pulling, hips jerking, yearning for more contact. Victor's fingers slid into him, his mouth creating a deliciously painful bruise at his neck. They melded into one, breath heaving and hearts running wild.

And Yuuri sank further into the dark.

* * *

Victor’s lay next to him motionless, chest rising and falling, rhythmic. He looked peaceful with the moonlight shining over him, starlight twining in his hair. His heart throbbed, clenching in a dull ache.

He could not sleep. Dreams were Victor’s domain. And dreams were where Yuuri was haunted the most.

So tiredness collected in Yuuri’s body, muscles sore, a city on fire burning. He watched as Victor slept on satisfied.

And Yuuri remembered that he used to love.  
  
He remembered.

* * *

"Why do you close yourself off?”

“I don't know.”

“Yuuri.”

The doctor leaned forward in his chair, leather stretching and crinkling, the clock ticking on in analog white noise.

“It's okay to ache,” he said with a synthetic smile. “Now, why is it that you close people off?”

“Because…I'm…afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I'm afraid of what will come out. If I open myself up, I'm afraid of what will come out.”

“What will come out…?” He titled his head to the side considering. “What are you hiding away in there, Yuuri?”

What is he hiding?

What comes forth from a chest that burns with a heart made of coal and lungs smeared in soot, bones made of ash and blood boiling hot? What comes out of a soul dimly lit that once shone bright, worn down and aged over the years, a supernova caved in on itself, a black hole?

Fear.

He feared more than anything. A primal fear that settled heavy in the gut like grease, slick and slimy and repulsive. He held his demons at bay, behind tired eyes and a weary body, but they persisted on, alway whispering, clawing at his flesh from the inside out, tearing, tearing, tearing-

“Everything. I've hidden everything away and I'm afraid that once it gets out…there will be nothing left. That I will cease to exist.”

In the land of judgement, who were the sinners and who were the repenters? Who was David and who was Goliath? Who was the man who stood with God at his back and a meager pebble in his hand facing the giant who defied divine grace and reason?

He was no righteous man seeking redemption.

He was Goliath seeking war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeeeeeres another update!  
> so I have a playlist that goes perfectly with this fic so whenever I'm listening to the songs I think "oh that would make a really great title!" anyway today's title comes from Lose Your Soul by Dead Man's Bones (give it a listen)  
> to any Yuko fans out there: I'm so very sorry.  
> ya gal sure does love alliterations and references :D  
> minor refs to charbydis and scylla and other Greek mythology, major refs to Ye Olde Book  
> this fic is entirely from Yuuri's perspective, so if something seems off or skewed, that's probably because it is! ;) 
> 
> Have fun reading! 
> 
> Smash that kudos and leave me a comment if you enjoy! 
> 
> Unless there is a major spelling or grammar mistake, I would appreciate it if y'all would please leave out any criticism.


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